The Jimiverse's Next Top Plot Bunny
by Lampito
Summary: A reality show in which three budding plot bunnies compete for the attention and votes of the Denizens, with the intent of gaining work as a professional plot bunny.


So, here's the thing.

I've got three little pre-bunnies, proto-bunnies, bunnies in potentia, that have clustered around the computer. They're just substantial enough to bug me, but not solid enough to do more than hint at a bit of a story, mumbling the same bit over and over. I know from experience that indulging more than one bunny is a recipe for discombobulation - that way madness lies. Each of them has been doing this for quite some time, without developing into anything useable. However, if I can pick one and give it some more consideration and attention, it might grow, blossom, and mature into a full-blown plot bunny. And it's all downhill from there...

To this end, I seek the assistance and opinions of the Denizens of the Jimiverse, and also of any Visitors, Lurkers or Casual Droppers In who care to voice their thoughts on the matter. And so, I present to you, the inaugural episode of...

**THE JIMIVERSE'S NEXT TOP PLOT BUNNY! ** (Tyra Banks not hosting. Maybe RuPaul is available.) The winning bunny will get the attention of me, and the Denizens, whose missives invariably make the damned critters more talkative. Maybe a bunch of flowers, too. The genre, as ever, will end up being crack, because even when I'm trying to be srs, it's what happens. You can take the girl out of the crack fic...

**Bunny #1: One with archangels in it, as requested by some Denizens**

"Archangels. Archidiots, is more like it," muttered God, as the four of them clustered together before Him. "I am more disappointed than angry," He went on, frowning, as Gabriel and Raphael tried to edge behind Michael and Lucifer. "And very, very hurt."

"We're sorry, Father," they chorused mournfully, staring at the ground in shame.

"Are you?" asked God, "Because I find myself thinking, you might be sorry, but what you are sorry about is the fact that I have returned, and found out what you were doing."

"Father, we..." began Michael.

"SILENCE!" boomed God. Michael jumped, and Lucifer put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Gabriel squeaked and Raphael looked ready to wet himself. "I was hoping to retire, you know, but how am I supposed to turn over the family business to you if you can't even control yourselves?"

"What would you have us do, Father?" asked Lucifer timidly.

"I wish you to learn to be brothers, to set aside your petty differences and work as a team, a family," God told them. "But clearly this lesson is beyond Me to impart, or otherwise you'd already know. Fat lot of good omniscience, omnipotence and all those other omni-words turned out to be to Me."

"Then how will we learn, Father?" quavered Raphael, peeking around Lucifer.

"I will send to you the mortal realm," decided God. "I have in mind to send you to learn from two brothers who can teach you how to be brothers, and to know the importance of family, no matter how different you may feel you are in nature and in thought."

"What?" Michael's eyes bugged in horror, and he fell to his knees. "No, Father, please! Please don't send us to Earth! Please don't make us be... humans!"

"No, Father, I beg you!" Lucifer fell beside Michael, tears in his eyes, "Not humans! They're so... squishy."

"And yukky," added Raphael, "The excretory functions alone are just... disgusting!"

"I dunno," mused Gabriel, "It can be kind of cathartic... I'm just saying," he defended himself. "Earwax, though," he told God, "Not one of your better ideas, Father. Ditto for hangnails, prickly heat rash and ingrown pubic hairs."

"I don't want to be human!" cried Michael. "They break too easily!"

"Neither do I!" wailed Lucifer, clutching his brother. "They smell funny!"

"They leak!" sobbed Raphael. "Waaaaaaaah!"

"Oh, don't worry," God smiled, "I promise I will not turn you into humans."

"You promise?" snuffled Michael.

"I promise," God affirmed. "Come on, then, War, Famine, Pestilence and Death, I'm sure you'll find the experience extremely educational."

**...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... ...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... ...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... ...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... ...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... **

**Bunny #2: Not exactly Sam-in-a-box, but a little hint from a very silly bunny nonetheless, with some very silly ideas about what constitutes 'family'. Sam always wanted 'family'. At least something more normal that what he got. Maybe just one Thanksgiving or Christmas that was a bit more organised than reheated take-out in a badly heated motel room. And as we know, family doesn't end with blood. Although there can be a certain amount of the stuff involved when the extended clan gets together...**

The familiar purr of the Impala's engine probably contributed to the slowness with which he came back to consciousness. It was only once he realised that he was in the trunk that he jolted towards wakefulness. His head was thumping – he touched it gingerly, and his hand came away sticky – but he didn't think anything was broken. Of course, that could just be the concussion that he had to have talking...

Fuzzily, he tried to figure out what the hell had happened. Library. He'd been at the library. Looking out the window. Going through back issues of newspapers. Then he'd noticed the time, and gone out to meet Dean by the Impala, then... lights out.

It was Dean. Dean had hit him. It had to be. The only reason he wouldn't react to someone approaching him from behind was because it was Dean. Well, okay, they'd argued at breakfast, but he didn't think he'd done or said anything to warrant being whacked in the head and shoved into the trunk, despite Dean's frequent threats to feed him burritos, then put him in there and let him gas himself. Something was wrong.

By judicious wiggling, he was able to ascertain that his weapons were gone. And getting at anything under the false bottom of the trunk would be impossible with his Sasquatch carcass jammed in on top of it. He swore, and winced, and started making a mental list of what could have happened. Some sort of possession? Not a demon, not with their tattoos. Skinwalker, maybe?

Sam found himself hoping that it wasn't a djinn with some kinky ideas about fantasy lives, when the car stopped, a door opened, and the trunk lid sprang up. Squinting into the suddenly bright light, he came out fighting.

"Hey, hey, take it easy!" Dean had hold of his shoulders, fending him off. "We're here. You okay, dude?"

"Okay?" Sam spluttered in outrage as he saw his brother, just his brother, peering anxiously into his eyes. "Am I _okay_? You thump me in the back of the head, stuff me in the trunk, drive me to God knows where, and now ask me if I'm _okay_? I can't see straight, my ears are ringing, and I think I'm about to lose my breakfast! What the _fuck_ is your malfunction?"

"Look, I'm sorry, I don't have time to explain," Dean told him earnestly, grabbing him by the arm and pulling, "But this is important. Just play along, okay? Follow my lead."

Sam muttered something uncharitable, but nonetheless followed his brother into the warehouse they'd pulled up alongside. "You owe me an explanation, jerk," he griped.

"I will, I will," Dean reassured him with an encouraging smile. "Come on, this way. Quietly."

They made their way silently through the dusty, cobweb encrusted detritus of an abandoned industrial space to a set of what must once have been office or workshop spaces. Dean crept along a paint-spattered wall to a solid door, and indicated that the room beyond was their destination.

"What now?" whispered Sam, barely audible.

"Shhhhhh! She'll hear you!" snapped Dean. "Come on, on three, one, two, THREE!"

Dean kicked in the door, grabbed Sam, and shoved him into the room, where he fell to his knees.

"Ta-daaaaah!" announced Dean sunnily. "Happy Birthday

Sam looked up into a face he wasn't expecting. His jaw dropped in surprised confusion.

"What the...?" was all he managed before he threw up, keeled over and passed out.

**...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... ...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... ...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... ...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... ...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... **

**Bunny #3 How Godstiel rehabilitated in the Jimiverse**

I have not watched anything beyond Season Five of 'Supernatural', but have a reasonably coherent outline of what happened through Season Six. As all Denizens know, in the Jimiverse, Castiel is the deadpan, socially inept Angel of the Lord, Acting Sheriff of Heaven, with no understanding of mobile phones or personal space, that we have all come to know and love.

As of the end of Season Six, the Jimiverse is officially completely totally AU, because in it, Godstiel was rehabilitated. The bunny thinking about describing how this happened is the shyest and smallest, but it has a small idea about exactly how that came to be. It keeps sniggering at toilet humour, so I'm not so sure how sensible it would be to encourage this bunny. Also, in the Jimiverse, the destruction of Singer Salvage never happened – OR, if it DID, it was rebuilt, with lots of arguments about fittings, curtains, and the merits of various flooring materials.

**...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... ...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... ...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... ...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... ...****oooooOOOOOooooo****... **

So, there we have them, Denizens et al., whaddyareckon? They've been pestering me without making any progress, so, I want your thoughts, opinions, or even prognostications about what colour the kitchen fittings at Nouveau Chateau Singer should be. So, vote for your preferred bunny! Vote early, vote often, and vote without mercy!


End file.
